


Distraction

by NaughtySammyBoy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dean Being an Ass, Dean and reader arguing, Dirty Talk, F/M, Smut, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtySammyBoy/pseuds/NaughtySammyBoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a hunt, Dean gets a bit distracted, resulting in him being a complete jerk to the reader even though he knows it was his own fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Dannng, I am SO sorry, you guys. I haven't uploaded in _months_. I got hit with a real bad case of REAL LIFE and a lot of shit's happened that caused me to pull away from writing for a bit, but hopefully I can get back into the groove of things because I've seriously missed it!
> 
> So, here's some Dean goodness for y'all!
> 
> I've also created a Tumblr so you guys can request stuff to help keep me motivated and chat with me, so head over to justcallmelosechester.tumblr.com and give me a follow (NaughtySammyBoy was taken *cries*)

Dean is _always_ in top-notch hunter mode when he's supposed to be.

However, he takes the whole watching-your-back thing to a different level, giving it a whole new meaning as the two of you canvass some dark and creepy old sawmill. I mean, it's not _his_ fault you're wearing that pair of jeans that fit you perfectly—namely your ass—and it most certainly is _not_ his fault that they're just a _bit_ too snug in all the right places, accentuating your figure as you move with skill and grace, a freshly sharpened machete in one hand and a flashlight in the other.  
  
What _is_ his fault is that he wasn't paying attention like he was supposed to be, and it's not until he's pinned to the ground by a fang-snapping vamp, all air vacating his lungs by the force of the fall, that he realizes that _mayyybe_ your ass shouldn't have been his main focal point when scavenging for rouge vampires.  
  
He struggles against it, grabbing its shoulders and locking his elbows so his arms are straight, desperate to keep the damn thing as far away from his neck as possible—since it had succeeded in separating Dean from his only weapon when it took him down. In the mess of grunts, growls, and snarls, the ping of a machete flying through the air fills Dean's ears, followed by blood splashing across his face and the thud of a severed head hitting the ground. He sighs in relief before throwing the now-lax body off him, grumbling under his breath as he pulls himself back up to his feet and wipes the blood from his face with the sleeve of his jacket.  
  
"God, Dean," you breathe, "Are you okay? The thing came outta nowhere."  
  
"I'm fine," he huffs in response, sounding more dismissive than he wanted, "Let's just torch the sonuvabitch an' get outta here."  
  
You hesitate, your eyes wide with concern. "You sure?" You prod in a sweet voice, "You hit the ground pretty hard, you sure nothing's hur—"  
  
"I said, I'm _fine_ , so just _drop it_ ," Dean growls, annoyed with himself and not entirely sure why he's taking it out on you—you actually did what you were supposed to do, saving his ass while you were at it. "Let's just do what we came here to do and go," he adds, turning his back to you as he pulls out a tin of lighter fluid and a box of matches, dousing the corpse before tossing the head on top of it.  
  
The old sawmill is silent, the only sounds heard being the striking of the match against the box and the roar of fire that erupts when Dean tosses it on the vamp. It's a loaded, _awkward_ silence, and Dean feels like a total asshole. Yeah, for snapping at you for no reason, but also because things could have ended way worse because of his stupidity. The thought of you getting hurt because of him—because he was too busy objectifying you like some common douchebag—makes his stomach pull in knots he wishes would just go away.  
  
The drive back to the motel is even more silence, and neither one of you seem to be willing to break it. Dean looks at you through his peripheral every few minutes, noticing that you haven't stopped looking out the window since you slid into the passenger seat. He can tell you're pissed, because your arms are crossed and your right leg is rapidly jumping up and down like you're trying to keep busy so you don't explode into an angry rant.  
  
Dean opens his mouth to say something— _I'm sorry_ —once he's parked in front of the motel door, but you're out of the car before the words even have a chance. He sighs and follows, keeping a distance as you both enter the room.  
  
"How'd it go?" Sam—who stayed behind due to a sprained wrist—asks slowly, his brows furrowed in confusion at the obvious tension that follows you both in.  
  
The words leave Dean's mouth before he has time to think, the sentence pointed; "Nothin' much, just almost got my ass eaten by a vamp because _someone_ wasn't paying attention."  
  
You whirl around, fire in your eyes. "How is this _my_ fault?" You question as you toss your hands up.  
  
"Because!" Dean shoots back, voice rising, "You were supposed to be watching my back!"  
  
You huff a laugh that is far from humored. "Last time I checked, _you_ put _me_ in the front. So, how in the _fuck_ was I supposed to watch your back when I was _in front_ of you?! I think we can all agree that, _that_ logic isn't feasible!"  
  
"Then maybe you should try sharpening up your skills a bit, sweetheart, 'cause they're a little dull."   
  
Dean regrets it as soon as he says it, because the hurt that flashes across your face feels like knives going down his throat when he swallows. The feeling only worsens when you whip around and start grabbing all your stuff, not saying a single word.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?" Dean asks, trying not to sound worried—because why would he be? It's not like you have to answer to him, and it's not like he cares.  
  
"I'm getting another room," you say, voice like venom when you say, "Because the thought of sleeping _anywhere_ near _you_ is _pissing me off_." You strongly shove past him, slamming the door on your way out.  
  
"O- _kaaay_ ," Sam says from his spot at the table under the window, reclining back in his chair with a confused expression, "What the hell was all _that_ about?"  
  
Dean's eyes are still trained on the door, his mind telling him to go after you, but he won't, because that's not what Dean Winchester does. He _sleeps_ with women, he doesn't go chasin' after them like the guy in some lame ass Lifetime movie who begs the girl for her forgiveness so they can kiss and makeup, live happily after ever, and all that other sappy shit that Dean's hot-wired to be repulsed by.  
  
"Dean!" Sam barks, making Dean jump, whip around, and bark back an annoyed, "What?!"  
  
"I asked you a question, man," Sam says, "What's goin’ on with you and Y/N? You've never fought like that before."  
  
"Yeah well," Dean huffs irritably, "There's a first time for everything, right? Shit happens, people get heated, whatever—life goes on."  
  
Sam's eyes narrow, his face saying _I'm not buying any of the bullshit you're trying to sell_. The way he's looking at him, Dean instantly grows uncomfortable, because it's Sam's _I'm about to get all up in your business_ face. "You like her," he says after a few beats of eerie silence.  
  
Dean freezes. " _What_?" He forces a laugh, turning away from Sam before his face betrays him. "What drugs are _you_ on, man?" He chuckles awkwardly, trying to act busy by digging through his duffle bag for some fresh clothes.   
  
"You totally _do_!" Sam quickly stands up to pace, his face bright with realization, the cogs in his head practically screaming as the turn and click into pace. "I can't be _lieve_ I never noticed it before!" He says, "You get all annoyed when she goes anywhere without you. You practically threaten every guy who even _thinks_ about talking to her, let alone hit on her, and you get pissed off whenever she does talk to a guy—even though you _still_ pick up woman, which is really hypocritical, actually." He stops for a second before saying, " _Ohhh_. Is that to fill the void of not having Y/N? Or is so you can imagine they're Y/N without _actually_ having to fall down that emotional rabbit hole you're so terrified of?"  
  
"Sam."  
  
"And, dude, you always— _always_ —suggest she sleeps with you when we all share a room, even though before she came along, you had a strict _sleeping by yourself in your own bed_ policy with no exception _ever_ ," Sam continues without hearing the warning in his brother's voice. "God!" He laughs as he shakes his head, "You are so ridiculously, _incredibly_ head-over-heels for her!"  
  
"Shut it, Sam!" Dean snaps, throwing dark jade daggers at his little brother.  
  
"So, when _do_ you plan on telling her?" Sam questions, pleased with himself as he smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. "You gonna go find out what room she's in and beg her to forgive you?" He teases, "Gonna go apologize for being a dick? Since you totally _were_ one, by the way."  
  
"Swear to god, I'm about to kick your ass," Dean bites out as he walks toward the bathroom.  
  
" _Ha!_ I'm totally right, Dean, just admit it!" Sam calls out after Dean's properly slammed the door behind him.   
  
He spends as much time in the bathroom as possible to avoid Sam, who thankfully is asleep when he eventually does chose to retreat from his hiding. He falls into the second bed in the room on his back, his eyes trained on the water-damaged ceiling above him. He sighs, completely unable to fall asleep due to the unwavering, _obnoxious_ guilt that hums deep inside him, an inward beacon that reminds him just how big of a jerk he really is.  
  
His mind wanders to you. The thought of you in a motel room by yourself, wondering what you did to deserve the wrath of Dean Winchester. You didn't deserve it, Dean knows that, but if he admits that to you, he'll have to admit the real reason he was pissed off. He'll have to tell you that he was distracted—by your ass of all things!—and he knows you'll think he's a pig, and that you'll call him an idiot for being so hot-blooded when you were on a case, one that could have gone south real quick.   
  
He'll have to tell you that you get under his skin like no woman has before, and without even _trying_. He'll have to admit that ever since he saw you exorcize that demon in El Paso using memorized Latin that was damn near as perfect as Sam's, he was stupidly, boyishly, and _grossly_ enthralled by all things _you_. Your smile, your laugh, your kindness, and how you were _totally_ oblivious to just how great you were, or how you doubted yourself because no one's ever told you the things you deserve to hear on a daily basis.  
  
But Dean's not the mushy type.  
  
So why _the_ _fuck_ is he getting out of bed and gunning it to the reception desk at nearly three o'clock in the morning?  
  
"I need to know what room Hadley Spence is staying in," he tells the gray-haired man behind the desk, using the alias you've been using for the past few months. And Dean swears he's never seen a human type so slow on such a prehistoric keyboard before.   
  
"Room 6B," the man says in a smoker's voice, "No ruckus or I'm callin' the cops."  
  
Dean hurries down the single row of rooms, his eyes scanning doors for room numbers until he's at the last one at the very end of the complex. He takes a few deep breaths as he stands in front the green, paint-chipped door, hands on his hips and his head tipping forward to look down at the ground. It's then he realizes he's not wearing any shoes _or_ socks.  
  
After about five minutes of an inner battle, Dean finally raises a hand and raps on the door quickly before he changes his mind. He listens for any movement, but hears none, so he knocks again, this time a little harder. "Jesus _Christ_!" He hears through the door, making him chuckle.  
  
The door swings open, revealing a disheveled, pissed off looking you. Your face softens when you see Dean, but quickly hardens back up again. "What?" You say offhandedly as you cross your arms over your chest, your eyes narrowed in annoyance, "Come to insult me some more?"  
  
"No," Dean says in a soft voice, one he almost doesn't recognize as his. He sighs, because fuck, he doesn't know how to do this—the closest he's _ever_ came to a declaration of love was when Sam made pecan pie from scratch, and it was so good it nearly brought tears to his eyes. "Can I, um, can I come in?" He asks, "So we can talk?"  
  
"What's there to talk about?" You ask stubbornly, and Dean would be pissed if you didn't look so cute right now. All stubborn and hard-headed, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that swallows you up, and your hair a straight up mess from sleep.  
  
"C'mon, Y/N/N," Dean smiles a bit, "I'm tryin' here."  
  
Finally you sigh, stepping aside and waving a hand towards the room behind you. "Hurry up, Winchester," you say in a clipped voice, the anger ebbing away a bit when you add, "Apology cutoff was at midnight and you're cuttin' into my valuable beauty sleep."  
  
"Not that you need it," Dean says under his breath.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Nothing," Dean shakes his head as he turns back to you. "Okay, first off all, I'm sorry I took a jab at your hunting skills—you didn't deserve that," he says.  
  
"You're damn right I didn't," you agree, "You didn't even so much as thank me for saving your ass."  
  
"You're right," Dean nods, "But I have a tendency to be a complete asshat, and I can say some really stupid things and act like a real jackass sometimes." You cock your head just a bit. "Okay, _most_ of the time," Dean corrects himself, rolling his eyes before adding, "But you have to know that me getting attacked by that vamp was _my_ fault because I wasn't paying attention at all, like, not even a little bit."  
  
"Soooo, you were distracted?" You ask him.  
  
"Unfortunately."  
  
"By what?"  
  
"Huh?" Dean acts like he didn't hear the question.  
  
"What were you distracted by?" You repeat, "If you weren't looking out for the vampire, then what were you doing?"  
  
"Ummm," Dean chuckles nervously, swiping a hand down his mouth as he quickly says, "Thewayyourasslookedinthosejeans."  
  
You looked confused. "I'm sorry?"  
  
"Ugh!" Dean groans as he tosses his hands up. " _Fine!_ " He says with a heavy sigh, "I was looking at your ass...pretty much the whole time we were in that _stupid_ warehouse."  
  
The silence that fills the rooms is so quiet, you could probably hear the mold growing if you tried hard enough. You're just looking at Dean with furrowed brows and a slack jaw, not saying anything.  
  
"Are you fucking _serious_?" You suddenly snap, taking Dean by surprise.  
  
"You could have gotten _killed_ , Dean!" You balk, "You could have gotten seriously hurt, and all because you were looking at my ass?!" You give out a frustrated shout. "And you snapped at me when I asked if you're okay, then you make me feel like it's _my_ fault you got attacked, then—as if _that_ bullshit wasn't enough salt in my metaphoric wounds—you undermine my ability as a hunter, and you...you...you, _ass_!"   
  
You take a step forward and Dean, honest to _God_ , thinks you're going to sock him right in the jaw. Instead, you say, "You stupid, _arrogant_ son of a bitch," as you grab his shirt in your hands and tug him towards you, stretching up on your tiptoes and hotly pressing your lips against his.  
  
The initial shock that locks Dean up takes about five seconds to melt away before he's grabbing your face and pulling his lips away from yours. There's another five seconds of the two of you just looking into each other's eyes, gazes bouncing as you assess the situation, before Dean's dropping his jaw and bringing your mouth back against his open one. He kisses you like he's always wanted to, all passion and heat, slow but completely out of this world—sensually, sinfully, and all those other fucking words that have suddenly escaped Dean's brain.  
  
Fire erupts inside him when you keen into his mouth, welcoming his tongue into yours with a series of gorgeous little sounds that seem almost unreal. He grabs around your ribcage, pressing you as close to him as possible as he licks and laps at your tongue with his, pulling it back to catch your bottom lip between his teeth to tug gently.   
  
"God you're a good kisser," you breathe against his mouth, your hands hasty as they grab the hem of his tee to tug it over his head. Dean chuckles in reply, a little breathless. He rids you of your shirt as well, finding out that you're completely, utterly naked beneath it.  
  
"Jesus... _fuck_ ," he curses, pulling you in again so your naked chest presses up against his, one hand grabbing up under your chin to tilt your head to the side so he can get his mouth on your neck, the other reaching around to grab your ass. "You're so fuckin' sexy," he husks into your skin, dragging his lips up along your skin until his mouth is against your ear, "And you don't even realize what you do to me."  
  
"Tell me then," you gasp, shoving your hands into the back of his flannel pajama pants and pushing them down far enough so they just fall to his ankles. You get a hand between your bodies, palming his fattening cock through his boxers. "Tell me what I do to you, Dean," you whisper in his ear.  
  
Dean groans, partly because your hand feels so fucking good against him, and partly because this is going _waaay_ better than he thought it would when he initiated this cockamamie plan.  
  
"You drive me absolutely fuckin' crazy," he growls, getting his hands around the back of your thighs and hauling you up off your feet. You gasp in shock, following it up with a joyous giggle as you wrap yourself around him, making Dean smile as he walks to the bed and deposits you into it. He watches you bounce, giving out a laugh of his own as he stands at the foot of the bed to quickly shove his boxers down.  
  
You watch him, thoroughly intrigued, your eyes ablaze with lust and your bottom lip between your teeth as you take him in. "Mmm," you hum, making Dean's cock bob with interest, "You just gonna stand there all night?"   
  
Dean shakes head, his eyes sliding up and down your splayed out body as he crawls onto the bed. He leans down, pressing his open mouth against the inside of one ankle, dragging his tongue up the length of your leg until he's sliding it across your hips to trail it down the other leg, completely avoiding where you ache the most.   
  
He watches you twist in anticipation, and he listens to the falter in your breathing, which has simplified into gasps and pants. He smirks up at you as he settles onto his stomach, his hands hooking behind your knees to pull your thighs apart, revealing you to him completely. He wants to take it slow, really take his time getting you off, but you're so swollen and glistening that his tongue demands a taste _nownownow_.  
  
You give a true shout when Dean shoves his mouth against you, his tongue quickly slotting between your folds and moving up until he's swiping at across your clit. Dean groans against you, reveling in the pot of tangy sweetness he's found between your thighs. He listens to your cries, feels your hands in his hair, and truly thinks he's died and gone to heaven.  
  
"Fuh-fffuck!" You shout, rocking yourself against Dean's mouth, making him growl and grab your hips to hold you still, sucking your clit into his mouth. "Je- _sus_!" You laugh through your pleasure, making Dean's eyes snap up to meet yours. "You're so fucking _good_ , Dean," you tell him, moaning through a smile, "God, I'm gonna come. _Wanna_ come for you, Dean."  
  
He hums in response, releasing your clit with a small pop before pressing his tongue flat against the throbbing nub, quickly moving it side to side, smiling smugly when your hips jerk in surprise in his hands. He doesn't stop until you're crying out brokenly and tossing your head back, back arched and hands unsure of what to grab on to as you fall over the edge.  
  
"Wanna ride you, Dean," you whimper when he crawls over your trembling body, eyes hooded and hair an even bigger mess than it already was when you opened the room door. "Please," you plead, wrapping your legs around Dean's waist and taking him by surprise when you drag him down against you, "Let me ride that gorgeous cock of yours."  
  
"Y-Yeah...okay," Dean says, voice already sounding wrecked because god _damn_ —this is better than _any_ fantasy he's ever had of you before. The desperate need in your eyes as you look up at him is nearly enough to take his breath away.  
  
You push at his shoulders, climbing to your knees and throwing a leg over his hips once he's settled on his back. Dean watches you reach down and grab his cock, poising yourself over it before slowly dropping your hips, the head of him slipping between your lips and sliding inside your slick heat, every single other inch following until you're settled in his lap.  
  
"Holy—" Dean grabs at your thighs, eyes drifting shut as his lips part, a shudder overtaking him as he feels you for the first time. He drags his eyes back open to look up into yours, finding the pinkness of your cheeks and the small 'o' shape of your mouth undeniably sexy.  
  
The two of you just breathe for a minute, relishing in the moment. Dean runs his rough-skinned hands up your sides, stopping to thumb at your nipples, gasping when your hips jerk in response. "Gotta move, sweetheart," he rasps out, "Fuck, you gotta move."  
  
You whimper in response, bracing your hands down on his chest as you pull yourself up, dropping back down in quick succession. The air leaves Dean's lungs, coming out in a long, guttural moan as his head fall back against the pillows. He's already so lost in you, in the way you move on top of him, with confidence and skill and fucking glorious rhythm that has his head spinning with pleasure.  
  
"That's it," he breathes out, looking back up into your eyes, his hands on your hips to help keep you on track, "God, that's fuckin' _it_."  
  
He can tell you're lost, too, because your eyes keeping crossing and there's a steady, _loud_ stream of moans leaving your mouth, and damn, Dean never considered you'd be loud, but it's just another thing he can add to the already long list of things about you that rev his engine. Along with your filthy ass mouth.  
  
"Want you to fuck me, Dean, just want you to throw me down and fuckin' _give it_ _to me_ ," you practically sob, so overwhelmed by pleasure. Dean pants as you lean forward, happily accepting your kiss before sitting up and pulling you up off his cock, forcefully throwing you down to the mattress like you'd requested. He watches you roll over and pull yourself up to your hands and knees, presenting yourself to him.  
  
He slides up close, giving your ass a playful slap before sliding back into you with one quick push. "That's right," he growls when you cry out in pleasure. He lays himself out over your back, his mouth against your ear as he finds a fast, hard pace. "That's it, baby," he says, "You take my cock so fuckin' well— _fuck_ —feels so good to be buried inside you, Y/N."  
  
You can't even respond with real words, especially when Dean circles an arm around your waist and gets a hand between your thighs, his fingers roughly rubbing at your swollen clit as he pounds you into oblivion. All you can get out is "yesyesyesyes" and the beginning of the word “fuck”, utterly wrecked and drowning in pleasure.  
  
"Come around my cock, sweetheart," Dean coaxes in your ear, wanting to feel it, "Come for me and I'll come for you."  
  
You come with a loud cry as your arms give out, your cunt clutching at Dean in the most magical way. "Ffffuck," he grinds out, his hips faltering in rhythm, trying desperately to fuck you through it, but quickly being consumed by his own release. It sparks white in his vision and heat in his blood, his balls drawing up so tight he swears he feels them in his throat.  
  
He clings to you as he jerks through the aftershocks, his slick skin sliding along yours as you both breathe erratically, growing limp once you've come through the haze. Dean quickly situates you both on your sides so he doesn't crush you, because his legs feel like jelly and he doesn't trust their strength.  
  
There's a long bout of silence, the two of you just trying to catch your breath. There's little fleeting touches, soothing hands and gentle caresses. Dean can't help but smile when you turn your head and nuzzle against his jaw, lining it with little kisses as he trails his fingertips up and down along the side of your body.  
  
"You should be an ass more often," you say after a while, wincing when Dean's now softened cock slips out of you.  
  
"Why's that?" He asks, grabbing your shoulder and pulling you down onto your back, his lips gently running along the swells of your breasts, catching your tiny, lazy smile.   
  
"Because the apology is fucking _awesome_."


End file.
